Bicycles and Lambs
by Bond.Jane
Summary: Regina is operating under the assumption that lambs get lost one nibble at a time. Emma is operating under the bicycle theory. Continuation of "Burn the witch"
1. The Lamb theory

**Author's note:** This story comes to you courtesy of various requests to continue my very first story for Once Upon a Time- "Burn the Witch". Now forgive me, but I quite liked where it ended and the tone of this piece is ever so slightly different, so I thought it deserved a separate entry. It might be better that you read "Burn the witch" first, but it is not essential. You'll get the gist, I'm sure.

Note: I'd like to thank my lovely beta. MickeyBoggs for the help with this chapter.

Much love

Jane

* * *

The lamb theory

Little Bo Peep had an unlikely lesson to teach on lambs getting lost. Which is one nibble at a time. And she had a plan of action: one little, Emma sized nibble, at a time. Nothing quite specific. Her brain was still fuzzy and unable of coherent, methodical planning. She just had to get her game on, that's all, because it had been so unbelievably long since she had played the field. Graham had not really been fair game, had he? She had kept her heart separate from everything, so she seemed now to be out of practise.

But Emma was, after all, her match. So diametrically her opposite in every way that she was all she needed. Besides, war made for strange bedfellows. Pun intended. Thanks to Gold's little back stabbing and that slay-the-dragon stunt (rest in peace dear Maleficent, but guess who just won?) they now had a common enemy. They were, at least, _frienemies_. Too much to lose by trusting each other, and too much to lose by not trusting.

Emma knew nothing about magic but she had it spades. Regina knew all about it and had none left. Even with that_ imp_ releasing magic in this world. She needed Emma. She needed Emma _magical _and_ pliable_ but that was a fool's errand. There was also the little matter that no magic came from bitterness. It came from love. And all her love was used up, worn out. Daniel had been so long ago he could not kindle magic of any kind, let alone the powerful magic they would need to beat Rumplestilskin. The power of the incredible loss he had left behind was not sufficient.

So, Regina decided, she would… _ensnare_ Emma, if not with magic, then with guile. No use crying over split milk and all that. Her magic was lost, but if she played her cards right she could still _command_ it. She would just have to _woo_ Emma. Did people even use that word anymore? Her attempt at seducing David had been so pathetic that it was a curse on her Evil Queen reputation. She cringed internally, embarrassed even after all the events in between. Maybe she should watch a film or something. Or ask someone. Except that sounded even more pathetic. Even if they were not all out to get her- quite literally. How does one go about the business of asking romantic advice after the age of 15? And of all things, she would, at least, preserve her dignity.

It did not sit quite right with her. She remembered the kiss from last night and she turned on the bed, curling into herself, touching her lips as if she could feel it still, that kiss.

She tried to console herself with rationalisations on how sometimes people just do _things_ in the heat of the moment, when emotions run rampant. Maybe she was already regretting it. Or, more likely, had forgotten all about it. Gods only knew where Emma Swan had had her lips before. Scores of other lips, most likely. She felt her blood curdle at the thought. And in any case. She had to survive. It was not her fault. It was just the way she was designed. She was a survivor. And survivors had to do _things_. So she put the memory of the kiss where she could keep it safe from herself and concentrated on the plan.

Deep breaths, Regina. Deep breaths.

So there had to be a plan.

Step one: Get up from bed. You were dead, you're not an invalid.

Step two…

She drew a blank.

Step two eluded her.

Step two: _do something_. There! It sounded more proactive already_. Do something_.

Start with step one.

She got up, testing her legs. She should have worried about her balance first, though, because the moment she stood, she wobbled and tumbled against the bed. Right. This might be a little bit more difficult what with having been dead and all. She tried again and, admittedly, it worked slightly better that time around. Her legs actually sustained her, though her head was still spinning a mile a minute. She felt like a new born filly, trying to gain her footing, all legs and no grace.

She was still wearing the suit from the last day, minus the jacket which lay blood-stained and torn like her life on a pretty chair by the window.

She felt uncovered, almost exposed without it. Not at all put together which was, for last 30 something years all she had left: the image she projected to others. Put together and in control. She snorted and cringed at how _un-lady like_ it was. How Emma of her.

She gave up on the jacket and fixed her hair as much as she could with still tremulous fingers. She tucked in her once upon a time white shirt. The blood stains were telling, but she was grateful that no one had taken it off of her, because she wouldn't have known how to deal with that particular brand of helplessness, even if in deferred timing. She undressed only in her own terms.

Regina took a deep breath. Time for step two. Whatever that would be. But it did help her to have a purpose. And she did have a purpose. She had herself a lamb to stray.

* * *

Regina walked down the floating staircase with trepidation on two counts: her still unsteady balance and the welcoming committee. Fine, she had woken from death to the happy feeling of belonging to _them_. They had been all around her, protecting her and, in a very real sense, saving her. But. Old habits die hard. And her one most ingrained habit was to hate them profoundly with every single step she took. She took a deep breath. And everyone sitting at the dining table at her feet, as it were, looked up to her. And it felt like a punch of sorts.

Facing affection is more difficult that facing hate. Hate she knew, chapter and verse. This? Totally new. And uncomfortable. For a moment, she would have preferred to face her own executioners. Which she had. _No!_ She mentally berated herself for the thought.

So it was Snow who stood from the breakfast table and moved to her side to help her down the steps.

"I don't need your help." Oh, it was said with no small amount of venom. But her hand stayed on Snow's arm and she couldn't quite fathom the why of it.

To her credit, Snow did not flinch. It seemed that Mary Margaret was truly gone.

"And you just can't help it, can you?" And she petted Regina's hand which had the dual effect of both annoying her and prevent a retort. "How are you feeling?"

Regina was torn between needing to be mean and wanting to be nice - which was so confusing it sent her head into another fun little spin. Snow held her tight and helped her to the table with a quick – and oddly maternal- rub on her shoulders that she seemed to regret instantly. Maybe for fear her hand might have been snapped right off. (Which was reassuring!)

The gesture was quick and was over almost before it had started but it was, for the lack of better comparison, like striking a match. For a brief flash, Regina felt like the scratch paper: she would not catch fire, but there was definitely a spark. Of magic. It seemed everybody had it. Everybody but her, that is.

God, she wanted to be done with the abandonment issues. She was tired of feeling being floored by those feelings when she least expected. This with the magic? Really? Feeling abandoned by magic? Didn't this take the biscuit! She cleared a swift tear that gathered. This was time for action. No more tears.

"Thank you, dear." Snow gaped none too subtly. Around the table, four sets of eyes running the spectrum between blue and green gazed at her with varying degrees of incredulity: Snow and Henry completely shocked, James mildly amused and Emma registering on the scale of "Come hither and soon".

"Hi Mom." Henry got over the shock faster. It is true that kids bounce back faster than adults. Regina shot him an open smile, one she could not help but let it rip. She would take any crumb of affection from the child. And he seemed generous today. His smile was frank and sweet. Hell's bells, it was a smile, which in the last few months had been rare. She took it and revelled in it for as long as she dared. Her face ached at the unfamiliarity of a happy smile. Happy smiles, apparently used different muscles from evil smirks. Hers felt unused.

"Miss Swan," Regina called when Henry seemed to have lost interest in her and move on to the stack of honey drenched waffles in his plate. As sure as the tides, he was in for the mother of all sugar rushes. Great parenting, Ms Swan. Just peachy. Emma was busy looking at her cocoa. Her head snapped up. Regina's tone was harsh and snappish. Like she was having trouble adjusting to this turn of events. She repeated, more softly. "Miss Swan," Regina waited for a beat, accessing the tone, resetting her frame of mind."Thank you"

The thing about Emma Swan? It would be so easy to be her friend if life had not happened. She was so quick with the smile and the affection. She knew instinctively how Emma loved: unreservedly, without games and agendas- which was probably why she kept herself separate from the rest. She had seen it in that hospital bed, when she had finally allowed herself to really see it. She saw it now at this dinner table. If only she, herself, didn't have the nature of the scorpion.

She cleared her throat. Emma might just end up a casualty of war and if before that had been ok, now it did not sit quite right in her.

But Emma's face pinched in a smile and her hand travelled across the seat left empty by Snow and touched Regina's hand. "Any time, Madam Mayor".

"Regina "

"Ok, but then don't go complaining about excess familiarity next council meeting."

Snow placed a cup of tea in front of Regina. The grateful smile was so unusual it almost cramped her face.

"I figured that we have a war to fight and it might be better to be on first name basis… "

Henry appeared from behind James and his dwindling stack of honey soaked waffles.

"A proper war? Like World of Warcraft?" Ah, only young boys would show such glee at the prospect of war.

"I thought I told you not to play that game…"  
"It might come in handy, Regina", James half joked, half defended, getting his grandpa groove on. To him, _Regina_ came easier than any epithet. She was oddly thankful for that. And what was it all the _happyhappy_ feelings? She was not due for her session of hormonal overload until the next century.

Regina took a deep breath and tried to get some control over herself, over the situation. Please the gods, this could not get out of her control with pretty words and tea and handholding. She was still a Queen and she had troops to command- even if it was this homemade army – a war to wage and, very importantly, a lamb to stray.

"Yes, Henry, a proper war." She raised her head, never so regal as at that moment, deposed queen though she was. "Ms Swan… Emma". And how come her hand was still in Emma's? Was she losing her ever loving mind? But she did not pull away. "Snow, James. Thank you"

The look on Emma's face told her the lamb had taken e first nibble. Apparently, the key was making nice with the parents. Oh dear…

James leaned forward. "No problem, Regina." His smile was just like Henry's before the book, unguarded. And he saw her hand still in Emma's. He must have done some math in his head, because Regina saw whatever fleeting thought it was that crossed his gaze, but he said nothing. Snow was content to stand behind him and touch his shoulders as if they had not been apart for the last 28 years. Regina felt nervous and plucked Henry's plate of waffles.

"You need to learn to share the spoils of war, Henry," and she tucked in, suddenly voracious. What was it with food today that it suddenly made all the wonderful meals she had learned to Martha-Stewart for herself in the last 28 years taste like cardboard? These were most excellent waffles and she ate with abandon, right out of Henry's plate.

* * *

She couldn't have known, but the lamb's first nibble had not been the making nice. It had been the drip of honey running down her unmade up face, the happy smile of someone who just discovered the joy of sugar and grease.

And that hand that did not seem quite ready to let go of hers.


	2. The Bicycle Theory

**Author's note: **Again with thank you to my lovely beta MickeyBoggs.

Much love

Jane

* * *

2. The Bicycle Theory

Emma was operating under the bicycle theory when it came to love which was to say that just because you fall once, it doesn't mean that you should not ride again. She had loved once. Badly enough. And for 11 years she had not dared to do so again. Staring at the darkest of the night already promising daylight she was sure that she would get back on and ride again. And that sounded a lot dirtier than she intended which made her smile to herself. Good thing she was not as uptight as Regina and she didn't take herself too seriously.

She felt remarkably good for someone who'd spent the night staring out the window with a sword in her hand. How cliché to feel like she could take on the world. One kiss and she was back to her teen years, ridding the adrenaline and the hormones like a junkie. She had stolen glances at the room every once in a while. In one pretty room she had everything she needed- which was so not what she had woken up thinking only one day ago. What a difference a day makes. The day before she had worried about nothing but leaving Storybrook, leaving everything behind, same old Emma, running away from a load of trouble.

Nothing could have persuaded her to stay. Now there was nothing that would make her leave.

James stood and walked to her, his hand caressing Snow's shoulder as he passed her to stand next to Emma. "Go and rest. I've got this." God, his arms ached to pull Emma to him and just hug her, because there were so many years of_ unhugged_ hugs he was finding it difficult to hold back.

It was not difficult to fall into him and let her arms do the rest. Oh, man, it felt so… good. Weird, because how on earth could she even start persuading her head that David- who was her age give or take a year or two was her father- _God, she had a father_- but good, because it definitely felt like a dad, even though she had never had one to compare. Perhaps especially because of that. She could tell, instinctively. It was a dad's hug.

They stood by the window, because a burden shared is a burden halved. And they both stole glances at the bed though, that was one particular burden none could yet share, James trying not to be dragged into mourning the years lost since they had last been a family and Emma pondering on how this could ever work, reconciling what should have been with what there was to be lived and what was there to be felt.

Henry was the first one to move. He disentangled himself from Regina which woke Snow. There was an awkward moment between them, because families have to work at being one and they hadn't had much by way of that. Snow got up from her curled up position and unfurling, she came to the window and hugged her daughter. Her daughter and her husband and my, oh my, was this the life she had been missing? She closed her eyes and enjoyed it and when she looked at Regina she had persuaded herself not to resent it- her- so bitterly. Not to hate her. Because she had it back. Nearly all. And truthfully, Regina had nothing to show for all this time.

"I'm hungry," Henry half moaned, clinging to Emma and basking in the simple affection that radiated from her, all hands and hugs and kisses. "Must be 'cause I was dead. It really took it out of me…" James actually snorted. Then schooled himself into as stern features as he could muster to be a good example. He was a family man now.

"Ok, breakfast then,"hHe whispered.

"Waffles?" Snow offered also whispering.

"She doesn't let me have sugar for breakfast," Henry whined.

"Well, then I'll get you a whole stack of them." It was petty as a revenge, Snow knew, but it was also harmless and satisfying. And they'd had enough of revenge. An eye for eye and they would all end up blind.

Emma stood behind as the three made their way down. Outside everything was quiet. In a way it was an anticlimax. She had expected a mob marching on them. Guess there would be plenty of time for that once the good citizens of Storybrook realised Regina was alive.

She sighed and thought about riding that bicycle. What an unlikely choice in Regina. Mean, arrogant, snappish, borderline sociopath Regina. But it was not really a choice. It was more like an acceptance of a fate. In any case, it's not because you fall off the bicycle once that you should not try again. In fact, that's exactly why you should.

Maybe she should have a plan. A storm the castle sort of plan. Ah, who was she kidding? Emma Swan planning? Emma Swan reacted. And as far as reactions went, this was a pretty unsettling one. She sat on the bed and braced her head in her arms. She was so royally screwed on this one. Maybe it didn't have to be a full on deal… like love. Maybe it could be just… like the others. Love? It was too soon for that. Right? Who could think about that when hate was the only thing between them? Maybe she should relearn to ride that bicycle and worry about the rest later. At least, with this one, if it turned out nasty, it wouldn't really be a surprise. And it would not end up in a jail term. Probably.

She brushed Regina's hair out of her face. She looked so harmless in sleep. And tormented.

Emma got up, adjusted the covers around the sleeping Regina and braced herself to ride that bicycle again. Man this would be a bitch of a ride. What was she getting herself into?

When she made it to the kitchen she was again hit the unsettling fact that her childhood dream had come true. She stopped for a moment, again five years old, again Christmas morning, only this time, Santa had delivered. Go Santa!

Snow looked at her from Mary Margaret's eyes. This was going to take some getting used to. She was cooking up a storm, golden waffles pilling in a plate, stirring hot chocolate on the hob. Mary Margaret was an old fashioned girl, no powder sachets for her and, it seemed , the same was as true for Snow.

Emma tried to reconcile the domestic bliss with the feisty girl of Henry's book. Snow had a radiance about her that had always been absent in Mary Margaret, a smile that was more laughter, less grimace. "Waffles, Emma?" Snow pronounced her name like she as tasting it in her mouth.

"Can I have honey?" _Oh Emma,_ all that she hadn't had all her life in one breakfast offering. Snow opened her arms to her and she burrowed into them, because hey, she did deserve this. She did.

"Anything. You can have anything you want." Snow guessed it was always difficult for a mother to restrain her affections. If she'd had it her way, Emma would be babied and cuddled and smothered in affection like waffles in honey. She would not leave her arms because this was enough to drive her crazy, this having memories of a much loved baby coming out of her and having held it for no more than a few precious seconds only to lose it and have it returned to her a grown woman. All the while having memories of not knowing she had that baby. It made her dizzy and incoherent except for that tug of her heart to hug, hug, hug.

Emma piled some strawberries over Henry's waffles as a concession to Regina's regime with a look at the boy's face that withered any protest.

When she heard light footsteps shuffling from the general direction of Mary Margaret's room- she so could not call her _mom_- her heart fluttered and skipped a beat. It was one thing to decide on something, quite another to face the music and dance.

When Regina made it down the stairs, clearly unsteady on her feet, her first instinct was to jump over the furniture and help her down, but between the impulse and the execution she seemed to have frozen by the very confusing reality of having Regina coming down the steps and knowing she was the Evil Queen that had damned her to a life of solitude away from honey drenched waffles and sunny breakfast tables.

As Snow moved to help her guest, Emma sank into her mug of chocolate. Maybe salvation could not be found at the bottom of the jug, but respite from the onslaught of her emotions could. She stared at it resolutely, concentrating on not moving her gaze up no matter how much she wanted to.

She began a mental list of reasons why it was a particularly bad idea to let herself feel anything but contempt – pity at the most- for Regina. It started with that snap, crackle and pop at her _mother_ that was only trying to help her down the steps. Regina had the nature of a scorpion who will kill the frog helping it across the pond. She just couldn't' help herself.

But then Snow stood up for herself because she was no longer Mary Margaret and Regina took it quietly in stride, and the list went back to having zero entries on it when she actually thanked Snow for the help. Pathetic, Emma, to excuse something like that just because Regina had been remotely civil and polite.

Under her lashes she observed Henry staring at his adopted mother and actually smile. Henry was actually smiling at Regina, an open smile without reserve. She took her bike and mounted it without so much as noticing it.

"Miss Swan." Oh, hell she sounded upset. Maybe it was all the waffles Henry was happily chomping down on. She wished he had saved a strawberry or two just to prove to Regina she had actually made an effort at giving him something healthy. "Miss Swan," she said it again, this time, a softer sound, like it tone had been re-evaluated. "Thank you."

It flashed before her eyes. The mob marching, chanting _burn, burn, burn_. The broken body, lifeless. The chainsaw to the apple tree and Henry's tears. Regina's tears as she said goodbye to Henry by that hospital bed. _Buckle up, cowgirl_. There was no stopping the smile, there was no stopping her hand when it reached for Regina and held on, establishing a very physical link between the two that she could not make herself break. It was meant to be something like her mom had done, a comforting touch and then off you go on your merry way. But it turned out something wholly different. "Anytime, Madam Mayor"

"Regina," a shiver ran the length of her body. _Regina_.

"Ok, but then don't go complaining about excess familiarity next council meeting." Ladies and gentleman, the master of deflection. But her hand stayed still. She took in Regina for the first time as she spoke of war. She was totally put together. From her torn shirt to her hair. Even without the makeup. She looked regal in every way. But that totally put together was false, and as broken as her clothes. The once nice clothes and nice hair cut were only external trappings of composure that made her look all the more brittle and, in a way, tragic.

When she said her name, when she called her parents by their names, it felt like everything fell into place. Like she had given them back to themselves after having stolen their identities, their lives, like a spell only she could really break through acknowledgement. Her heart, her crazy little heart expanded painfully in her chest, taking up space she needed to breathe.

Her hand tightened a little more around Regina's.

But the clincher? The little drip of honey on her chin when Regina stole Henry's waffles and tuck in like she had never had a treat in her life. She would have wiped it clean, but she was too busy getting on her bike and pedalling.

* * *

Emma couldn't have known, but Regina had a bicycle of her own and reticent though she was, for such was her nature, she began ridding it, despite herself.

It was the courage that a hand holding hers could give.


End file.
